


The Weight of One Man's Heart

by OverHillAndUnderTree



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: F/M, Historical, PWP, Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverHillAndUnderTree/pseuds/OverHillAndUnderTree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader-Insert!<br/>While working at Madam Susan's brothel, you encounter a gallant Sergeant unlike the other brutes that patrol the streets of Whitechapel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of One Man's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to write a reader-insert with the lovely Bennett! I'd love to write more if you guys like it, feedback of any kind is hugely appreciated! Thanks so much, hope you enjoy! xx

London, 1889; our streets were littered with beggars, drunks and thugs. Murder and debauchery were rampant; yet worst of all were the arrogant and corrupt coppers that patrolled them, focused more on their damned pride than the safety of the people.

          You worked in the Tenter Street brothel, under Madam Susan, and you had the unfortunate job of witnessing first-hand the filth and corruption of the men of the city. They were greedy and arrogant; throwing their money at you for your body and yet passing by starving children in the streets.

          There was, however, an exception to this stereotype that you had accepted as the ‘norm’; the Sergeant of Scotland Yard. His name eluded you, yet he would always appear in the brothel quietly to speak with the madam, accompanied by Inspector Reid, whom you recognised, and also accompanied by Captain Jackson, with whom you had the pleasure of being incredibly familiar. You never minded giving the man freebies; when you worked on your back in London, a nice handsome young man with a skilled pair of hands was a welcome change to the pot-bellied old men that normally paid for your company.

          On this particular day, you found yourself wondering about his name as you remembered the night before. You had the evening off, and decided to take a stroll when one of your regular customers had stopped you and began attempting to grope you in the middle of the street. Disgust pooled in your stomach as he whispered foul things to you, before the Detective Inspector pulled him from you and beat him to a pulp. He had walked you back to Madam Susan’s, chatting about this and that, before politely exiting and before you could properly thank him.

          You sat in the parlor of the brothel, pondering the events of the previous night before making the decision to go to Madam Susan’s office. You knocked gently before entering, and she tore her eyes from her paperwork to smile at you.

          “Yes, girl?” she asked, placing her papers gingerly down on the desk and beckoning you in from the doorway. You shut the door behind you and bowed your head graciously. You loved madam Susan; she treated you and the other girls very well and she was very, very beautiful.

          “Madam,” you began nervously, carefully considering how to word your question. “Are you still shaken up from last night, girl? I’m sorry but I cannot give you the day off, your customers will be angry and I’m afraid we’re too understaffed to give them free sessions.” She said gingerly, and you shook your head furiously.

          “Absolutely not, madam! I’m quite alright, thanks to that gentleman from the Yard.” You explained quickly. “What I’m actually here to ask is, well, if you would be able to tell me that man’s name? I feel ashamed that I didn’t properly thank him for his help.”

          She looked up at you again, eyebrow raised. “My dear girl, that’s his job. I’m sure he thought nothing of it, now off you pop before a queue starts forming for you.”

You nodded, eyes at the floor before turning back around to the doorway. You hadn’t realised that Captain Jackson had entered and you blushed. “Good day, sir.” You said politely before trying to step around him.

“Drake Bennett” he whispered, winking at you, and you stared at him curiously before realising that he had answered your question. You gave him a warm smile in thanks and scurried off to attend to your customers.

          As the day drew on you were weary, but it was still bright outside and you decided to take a walk to Scotland Yard. You brought your coin purse with you, and on the way you stopped at a merchant to pick up a single orchid. You smile to yourself, ‘what on Earth will I look like? Walking into a police station with a flower… I must be mad”.

          You enter the station hesitantly and walk up to reception, where a bearded man is hurriedly flipping through books before peering up at you. “We don’t want to by none of your flowers, miss.” He said, his voice monotone.

          “Oh! No, I’m afraid I’m here to see, err.. Sergeant Drake?” you said, voice almost as quiet as a mouse. You weren’t sure how he heard you amongst the bustle and shouting of the station.

          “It’s his afternoon off I’m afraid, darling.” He peered up at you through his rounded spectacles. Your shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment and you fiddled with the flower that you’d bought him. “But I’m sure you can find him at the bar round the corner, it’s usually where he spends his days off nowadays.” The man said, kindly. You gave him your thanks and made off to find Bennett Drake.

          When you arrived at the bar, a few heads turned to stare at you. This seemed the type of tavern for regular customers, and you were a stranger (except to a few of the men, who would ashamedly rather not admit that they knew you). Your eyes scanned the bar but there was no sign of him. You sighed, realising how silly you were being and turned to leave, only to bump into the chest of a man that completely towered over you in height. You stammered and apologised nervously before looking up and seeing a stern-looking bearded face with slicked back hair and kind eyes. You beamed up at him delightedly.

          “Sergeant Drake!” you exclaimed, before composing yourself. “Hello.” You said meekly, realising you must’ve made a fool of yourself. He chuckled softly. “Hello again miss.” His expression changed to one of concern. “May I ask what brings you to this place? It ain’t safe for a lady to be in here alone. Men in here are like bloody vultures.” He peered around, almost as if the men could hear him.

          “I actually came here to find you, Sergeant.” You explained. You handed him the orchid and he looked at you questioningly.

          “I don’t feel that I thanked you properly for last night,” you said shakily. Why were you so nervous? “That man is not a pleasant person, and I fear to think what would have become of me, that is to say, if you hadn’t arrived when you did.” Were you blushing? Good God! You’d had enough male encounters to not blush like a school girl when you were simply giving a man thanks. Although, upon thinking about it, it was not often a man was concerned for your safety, and it was even rarer that a man would go out of his way to protect you, policeman or not.

          “Think nothing of it, boils my blood to see a young woman taken advantage of.” He smiled at you kindly. You wondered how someone with such a kind face could be capable of such brutality as he was. “Thank you, though. As you might guess, I certainly do not receive many flowers in my line ‘o work.”

          This made you chuckle. “If it’s any consolation, nor do I.”

The two of you continued to chat for a while as he bought a drink for the two of you. You could see him nervously peering into his wallet, and you bought the next drink (much to his protest).

          “A lady should not pay for a man’s drink, I won’t have it!” he’d argued. You giggled at his childish stubbornness and placed his drink in front of him. “I know what a copper’s wage is, Sergeant, but I appreciate you being a gentleman despite your means.”

          He still protested, but the two of you talked well into the night before he walked you back to the brothel. You felt as though he were returning you to reality after a lovely dream.

          “Could we maybe… do this again? I do so enjoy your company” you said shyly. You really had enjoyed spending time with him; unlike most men, he was a fantastic listener and also had many interesting tales of his own.

          He removed his hat and dipped his head politely. “I would like that very much. Miss (L/N), isn’t it?” he said, returning his hat to his head.

          You beamed up at the towering man before placing a kiss on his cheek. “You can call me (F/N), Sergeant.”

He nodded and started to walk away, before turning and saying, “and my own name is Drake, miss. You needn’t call me Sergeant.”

You returned to your quarters that night with a full heart and a smile on your face, and over the course of the next few days, you closed your eyes with every single customer, trying to daydream that it was Drake who lay with you.


End file.
